


290. empty mind

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [169]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 22:52:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8866579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: “Can’t stand gunshots,” Sarah says, and she still isn’t looking at Helena, she still isn’t. “Can’t bloody stand ‘em. I can’t.”
“But you came anyways,” Helena says.





	

Sarah can hear the gunshots from all the way across the field, and the sound still makes her heart a kick-drum in her chest. _Run_ and _hide_ and the perfect straightness of Rachel’s spine, her arm a right angle, and _run_ and _hide_ and the crows flying out of the cornfield and _run_ and _hide_ and Helena’s bullet piercing the windshield where Sarah’s skull should have been.

She tucks her hands in her pockets and heads over to the huddle of Helena in the tall grass. She’s firing at doll heads – they’re lolling at weird angles on their posts, Barbie dolls and baby dolls of all shapes and sizes. They’ve been nailed down; otherwise, judging by the amount of perfect headshots, they all would have been blown away.

Sarah gets close enough and scuffs her foot, once, against the ground. Helena jolts – subtle enough that you’d almost miss it, but she jolts. She looks away from her sniper rifle.

“Hello,” she says, blinking at Sarah, eyes doe-wide. “Sarah.” Her head tilts to one side, confused. “You’re here.”

“Not answerin’ your phone,” Sarah says. Pauses. Smirks. “Again.”

Helena winces. “Sorry.” She rummages through the pockets of a jacket that looks like it’s Donnie’s, checks her phone. “Was buzzing. Did not hear, over bangs.”

“Yeah, can see that,” Sarah says. She stares at the doll heads. Somewhere, a bird calls; S would be disappointed in her, that she doesn’t know what kind.

“Is there a ham emoji,” Helena says, breaking the mood abruptly.

“No bloody clue,” Sarah says.

Helena makes a disgruntled _hrm_ sound and sends a message, puts down her phone. Her fingers are mechanical on the sniper rifle as she pulls the pieces of it apart – it’s the most tender Sarah has ever seen Helena’s hands, besides that time when they were splayed against Kira’s hands. She thinks about piano players and symphonies. Violence in D Minor.

Helena’s eyes flick up to her, and she wilts a little bit. “Sorry,” she says again. “Sometimes—” she gestures to her brain, fingers flicking like a halo around her skull. “Too loud. I don’t know how to make it quiet any other way.” She stops, abruptly; her fingers curl around the barrel. “Or. Um. I do. But I – don’t. Anymore. I am better now.” Tap tap tap go her fingers on the barrel.

“Doesn’t make you nervous?” Sarah says, looking out into the depths of the field; the gold grass waving in the breeze, the summerlight. “You don’t think about…”

“Thinking is bad, when you are a weapon,” Helena says, with a breeziness that is slightly horrifying. _When you are a weapon_. “Only point and shoot. Otherwise you are too slow, because of your shaking fingers or your crying mind. Then…” she shrugs. “Bad things. So. Blank mind. Quick fingers.”

“Can’t stand gunshots,” Sarah says, and she still isn’t looking at Helena, she still isn’t. “Can’t bloody stand ‘em. I _can’t._ ”

“But you came anyways,” Helena says.

“Yeah,” Sarah says. She stuffs her hands in her pockets but her fingers don’t stop being cold. Everything feels like it means something, and she could take a step forward and be right back in front of Helena’s gun barrel again. And Helena could just fire.

“I can answer my phone next time,” Helena says, voice a quiet and crushed little thing. “Promise. I’m sorry. That you came.”

“I’m not mad at you for it,” Sarah says to the Barbie doll with the brown hair. “Don’t blame you, for needing to get away.” She laughs, dried-out husk. “I’m the last person who can blame you for that.”

Helena doesn’t answer. Sarah turns around to look at her, and she’s staring at the sniper rifle with a sort of revulsion. Like it’s the very, very worst thing. Sarah’s fault. Part of her wishes that she could just pick up the gun and shut down, become someone else’s weapon, but mostly she hates herself for wishing that. It would be nice right now, to not be herself, and that’s awful.

She crunches through the tall grass and crouches down next to Helena, puts two light fingers on the barrel of the gun – like she’s feeling for a heartbeat in the glossy black metal. Helena goes very, very stiff the second Sarah touches the gun. Neither of them move.

“Can I stay,” Sarah says.

Helena reaches out and puts the very lightest fingertips over the back of Sarah’s hand, Helena touching Sarah touching the gun. “Always,” she says. “You know this. You do.”

_I don’t_ , Sarah thinks.

_Not yet_ , Sarah thinks.

_You could show me,_ Sarah thinks. _I could learn it_.

“Yeah,” she says instead, and sits down on the ground. Helena reloads the sniper rifle, all the pieces slotting beautifully back together. She leans forward to look through the scope. Then she fires.

**Author's Note:**

> (Not mentioned: the feeling in Helena's chest when Sarah reaches out to touch the sniper rifle, love and horror and fear and love and love.)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! (Especially comments, oh my god, save my life.)


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